


my old friend

by Lint



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Full dark no stars, Gen, Revenge Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 23:39:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15302568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lint/pseuds/Lint
Summary: “Stick to the plan,” she urges. “We're so close.”“So close,” Cheryl echoes. “Don't worry Cousin. You can count on me.”





	my old friend

**Author's Note:**

> For Odalis, as always.

 

“What am I doing here?” Cheryl asks, eyes focused on the gate looming ahead. “When I know your dearest Veronica is more in tune with these Nancy Drew adventures of yours.”

 

Betty turns to her, brow arched curiously, but a knowing smirk on her lips.

 

“Poetic justice,” she replies in all seriousness.

 

Cheryl is not amused at the poor excuse for humor, still staring at the gate she once ran out of, hand clenching Toni's so tight. It's not a memory she recalls very often, preferring to let good old repression step in, but it's impossible not to think of when they're this close.

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

Betty follows her eyes, her grip on the wheel suddenly tightening, followed by a sharp intake of air that turns Cheryl's head toward her.

 

“I threatened Sister Woodhouse twice,” she answers calmly, despite the sudden tension in her body language. “And failed to go through with either of them. How many more kids has she had the chance to torture because of that?”

 

She takes another breath, meeting Cheryl's eye.

 

“If I'd done something the first time,” she goes on earnestly. “Maybe you never would have-”

 

“Sound reasoning, Cousin,” Cheryl interrupts. “Really, I appreciate the remorse of inaction on my behalf, but let's say for the moment I don't believe you.”

 

Betty's eyes go wide.

 

“I don't know what you-”

 

“When you presented this little plan, there was something in the way you talked about it that caught my attention. I don't know what it was, exactly, but it's not there now. Pretty words, Betty. But I don't trust you mean them.”

 

Oh, Cheryl muses, there it is. The sudden shift in Betty's demeanor. As if a rain cloud has cast across her features. So much so, that Cheryl actually shifts away on instinct.

 

“My dad was right about me,” Betty offers.

 

“In what way?”

 

“The darkness inside of him. It's inside of me. He said we're the same.”

 

“But there's a difference,” Cheryl finds herself insisting, even if she doesn't have anything in particular to back up the statement, her mind goes blank even though Betty is looking at her expectantly.

 

“Is there?” she questions. “Because I've always felt it inside. Festering. Screaming to be let out until I finally can't fight it anymore.”

 

Cheryl nods. Having seen it for herself once or twice.

 

“Ever since the Black Hoo-my dad. Ever since he did those awful things, it's like it never shuts up. It's always there now, taunting me. It wants... It wants...”

 

Cheryl, despite the uneasiness she feels with the shift, reaches out to place a hand on her arm.

 

“What does it want?”

 

“Blood,” Betty states bluntly. “It wants blood.”

 

She takes yet another shaky breath, and it's as if the clouds part, Cousin Betty becoming herself once again.

 

“Do you want to back out?”

 

Cheryl considers this a moment.

 

“No,” she answers. “I just wanted you to be honest with me.”

 

Betty nods, a sigh of relief escaping her, then counts to five before opening the door and exiting the car. The trunk creaks open, as she reaches inside to the surplus military style backpack she'd found in the garage while getting rid of her dad's things.

 

“Do I even want to know where you got this heap?” Cheryl asks, joining Betty at her side.

 

“Probably not,” Betty replies easily, slipping the pack onto her shoulder, and reaching back into the trunk for a pair of bolt cutters.

 

“Right,” Cheryl deadpans.

 

They make their way toward the gate, Betty using the cutters to break the lock, as Cheryl clicks on the flashlight and leads the way in. They make their way cautiously, almost afraid to make any noise at all, before approaching the ladder that appears to be still intact.

 

“Hopefully they didn't change too much about this tunnel,” Betty offers in way of conversation.

 

Cheryl clucks her tongue.

 

“This place runs on a shoestring budget,” she replies. “The most they could have done is block a few doors with sandbags.”

 

“Well,” Betty retorts. “Let's hope they didn't do that either.”

 

/\

 

The tunnels are dark and a little spooky, but thankfully empty, as they make their way toward the dormitories as quickly and quietly as possible. Cheryl hasn't said a word since they descended the ladder, head on a swivel, and eyes darting around in every direction.

 

“You need to calm down,” Betty whispers, reaching for her wrist.

 

“I'm fine,” Cheryl snaps back.

 

Betty stops, pulls gently so that Cheryl faces her, their eyes finding each other in the low light.

 

“They're not going take you again,” Betty assures. “Even if we get caught, I won't let them.”

 

Cheryl's head tilts, as if she wasn't expecting such a promise, then nods.

 

“Let's keep moving,” Betty insists.

 

Once they reach the dorm level, Cheryl kills the flashlight, and they tread even more carefully. A single nun is wandering the halls doing bed checks, but she's slow and easy enough to dodge, as the pair approach the first door said nun has already verified.

 

Betty slips the pack off her shoulder, rummaging around the little pouch on the front.

 

“I didn't think to ask before,” Cheryl begins. “But are we really going to have time for you to pick every single one of these locks?”

 

“No,” Betty replies, pulling out a strange piece of metal from the pouch. “Lucky for us, I have this.”

 

Cheryl regards it curiously.

 

“And that is?”

 

Betty inserts it into the lock, gives one little twist, then smiles smugly at the sound of the lock popping open.

 

“Did you make that from some diagram out of that silly little library book?”

 

Betty doesn't answer, opening the door, to a wide eyed girl who appears to be only a year or two younger than them.

 

“Hey,” she greets. “Do you want to get out of here?”

 

And so it goes, for every room they open, guiding all the kids who wish to escape back to the ladder and on toward freedom. Almost thirty in total, it takes nearly the entire night, Betty's phone reading four in the morning when the last one finally goes up.

 

The cousins share a sigh of relief, taking a moment to appreciate their good work.

 

“We could just go,” Cheryl says softly. “Thirty souls is a lot to save. Especially for one night.”

 

Betty glances back up the ladder.

 

“True,” she agrees. “But we both know Sister Woodhouse will just keep accepting more.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Betty backs up a few steps.

 

“Come on,” she presses. “The night isn't over.”

 

/\

 

Sister Woodhouse's room is rather spartan.

 

Which, if Betty is being totally honest with herself, comes as a surprise. With the act of taking money from families too pious to accept their children for who they are or what they've done, she had anticipated some sort of lavish decoration from the fruits of her labor. No, it seems that despite the Sister's pick and choose belief system within her religion, the vow of poverty seems to be taken to heart.

 

The woman is fast asleep, and doesn't react at all to her door being opened, nor does she hear Betty and Cheryl's footsteps as they enter. Needle poised in Betty's hand, Cheryl stares at the point, it so eerily similar to the one used on her within the confines of this hell house.

 

Betty wasn't exaggerating about the darkness inside, she doesn't even hesitate before sticking the needle into the Sister's neck and pressing the plunger, Cheryl flinching at the silent swiftness of the act. Then again as the woman's eyes snap open, mouth dropping for a scream that doesn't escape, eyelids falling again when the drug begins to take affect.

 

“Grab her feet,” Betty commands.

 

Cheryl doesn't move, staring down at the woman who in such a short time, caused her so much pain. More than needles. More than manual labor. More than ridiculous subversive films made in the fifties, that were more good for a laugh, than an actual change of mind.

 

The darkness Betty both fears and gives into, understood in the moment. A darkness she herself is in possession of, but until now has never felt the need to acknowledge. Her father killed her brother. Betty's father killed a whole lot more. The blood that runs in their veins is nothing but poison.

 

“Her feet,” Betty repeats, and Cheryl finally complies.

 

The gurney is waiting for them just outside the door, as they struggle to lay the sister atop it, groaning and grunting with the dead weight of her. Once she's finally aboard they wheel her along, collectively holding their breath for not getting caught this far along, and arrive at the split point of the plan.

 

Cheryl is going to backtrack back up the ladder to retrieve the getaway car, while Betty will guard the Sister and wait patiently for her arrival at the loading dock. They hug ever so briefly, wishing each other luck, when Cheryl takes one last look at the unconscious woman. A rage she hasn't felt since discovering Daddy's indiscretion, makes one eye twitch, Betty sensing something in her and placing a placating hand on her shoulder.

 

“Stick to the plan,” she urges. “We're so close.”

 

“So close,” Cheryl echoes. “Don't worry Cousin. You can count on me.”

 

Ten minutes later the fire alarm goes off just as Cheryl pulls up to the dock, she and Betty rushing to shove the Sister into the trunk, before accelerating off into the night.

 

/\

 

Betty is furious, as Cheryl guides them along the highway, silently fuming while she stares out the window. Both keep checking the mirrors just in case, though they haven't even passed a car for nearly twenty minutes, let alone have been followed by one.

 

“I can't believe you did that,” Betty finally utters.

 

Cheryl keeps her eyes on the road.

 

“Why,” Betty goes on lamenting. “Why did you think adding arson to the plan last minute, would be a good idea?”

 

Cheryl gives her a quick glance.

 

“Because kidnapping and accessory to murder simply wasn't enough.”

 

Betty sighs dramatically.

 

“This is serious.”

 

Cheryl's hands tighten on the wheel.

 

“Oh, I'm very serious,” she replies. “You were right about one thing, dear Betty. If all we did was breakout my fellow members of the community, Sister Woodhouse would most certainly have continued the practice. But I think you let one little detail slip through your fingers.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“She's just one person. Important person, yes. Top dog, or whatever. But did you really think removing her was going to put an end to that nasty little practice of theirs? Would the others simply stop, because the one ringing to bell to their disgusting call, was suddenly absent?”

 

Betty's silence is telling, in that no, she hadn't thought about that particular possibility.

 

“You go on about your darkness,” Cheryl continues. “And so easily forget about mine. My fault, perhaps. I do like to keep it to myself. But it's there, Cousin. Despite the subtle differences, it's there.”

 

Betty turns to her.

 

“What kind of differences?”

 

Cheryl smirks.

 

“Yours wants blood,” she replies evenly. “Mine? Wants fire.”

 

/\

 

The sun is just beginning to break behind them, when Betty and Cheryl pull Sister Woodhouse from the trunk, laying her unceremoniously on the damp grass of the clearing. A low groan emits from the elder woman's throat, her head shifting quickly to the side, as her eyes peer open carefully. Betty frowns, the sedative was supposed to last for at least four hours, and she's only been unconscious for barely two. Confusion carries from the Sister's eyes, looking up at the two of them, before recognition sets in.

 

“Miss Cooper?” comes out hoarse, before her eyes flick to Cheryl. “Miss Blossom. What... What is the meaning of this? Why can't I-”

 

Her shoulders shift, but that is all she can do.

 

“Why can't I move?”

 

Betty shoots a quick look at Cheryl.

 

“The shot I gave you,” she answers. “Was supposed to last longer, but I guess that just goes to show you can't trust a back alley pharmacist.”

 

“Shot?” Sister Woodhouse questions. “What do you... W-what are you planning to do?”

 

Cheryl sneers down at her, so many things she wants to say, but none of the words seem to form coherent on her tongue. The anger burns inside so bright, like the beautiful flames that turned her compound to ash, she just may spit fire if she speaks.

 

“Where are we?”

 

The shift in Betty is so clear, even the Sister takes note, eyes going wide as the girl crouches down next

to her head.

 

“Greendale.”

 

The Sister gasps.

 

“This town is the mouth of hell,” she declares. “And all who dwell within are servants of the devil himself. I am a woman of the cloth. If you leave me here I am dead.”

 

Her head turns toward Cheryl.

 

“And you Miss Blossom? Among your other depravities, have we gone up the chain to kidnapping and murder?”

 

Cheryl crosses her arms.

 

“It's what you deserve.”

 

Sister Woodhouse scoffs, despite the situation, defiance shining in her eyes.

 

“You dare to judge me, miscreant? When the sin runs so deep within you?”

 

Cheryl smiles sweetly down to her.

 

“Whatever do you mean?” she asks. “I'm sensational.”

 

Betty chuckles at the decoration, bringing attention back to her.

 

“So high and mighty,” she teases. “Even now. It's your conviction that damns you. I mean, you get that right?”

 

Sister Woodhouse does not.

 

“You've killed me,” she mutters. “Surely you are aware of this? If you leave me here, my blood will be on your hands.”

 

“Maybe,” Betty allows. “Maybe not.”

 

“Children,” the Sister spits. “You are nothing but petulant children, and you've killed me. Killed me!”

 

Betty's head tilts at the Sister.

 

“No,” she hums, elongating the vowels. “We're granting you your greatest wish.”

 

She reaches out to run a hand along the Sister's hair.

 

“You're going to meet God.”

 

The Sister gasps again.

 

“And when they send you to hell, for all the pain you've caused in those children for being just as it made them, how righteous will you feel then?”

 

Betty rises to her feet, reaching for Cheryl's hand, hearing something approach just beyond the trees.

 

“They're here,” she states. “We better go.”

 

Cheryl takes one last look at her tormentor.

 

“P-please,” she begs. “Don't leave me here.”

 

“Don't worry,” Cheryl coos. “They're going to rid you of all those naughty demons.”

 

They get in the car, both catching a flash of something in the rear view mirrors.

 

“Don't look back,” Betty warns, starting the car.

 

Cheryl keeps her focus forward.

 

“Look back at what?

 

/\

 

Betty hands Cheryl a box of wooden matches, the car already doused in gasoline near the edge of Sweetwater River, smiling at the way the redhead's face brightens with the offer.

 

“Thank you,” she accepts, quickly taking three matches into her fingers and sparking them to life.

 

The fire spreads quickly, engulfing the car in flames, as Cheryl's heart beats loudly within her chest in appreciation of its beauty. Betty lets her watch for nearly a full minute, before tugging gently on her arm, and they flee into the trees.

 

For a long stretch, neither girl says a thing, each reflecting on their actions of the night.

 

“Are you going to tell Toni?” Betty inquires, breaking the silence.

 

Cheryl's head snaps to her.

 

“Why would you ask that?”

 

Betty shrugs.

 

“I don't know,” she replies. “I just thought-”

 

“While I'm sure my lady fair could be understanding of what we've done,” Cheryl interrupts. “I hadn't planned on it, no.”

 

She reaches for Betty's hand.

 

“This is just between us, Cousin.” She assures. “Your darkness and mine.”

 

 


End file.
